


Life goes on

by Personne



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Destroy Ending, F/M, Post-Reaper War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 18:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personne/pseuds/Personne
Summary: The Reapers lost. Shepard survived. Life goes on.Succession of post-ME3 moments, which respects the Destroy ending and its consequences, and focuses on Shakarian - but not only. Translated from the French version "La vie continue", no permission needed since I’m the author. I’ll try to keep up to date in English. To allow most people to identify themselves, my FemShep is the classical Jane one with red hair and green eyes: the rest of her is left to your imagination. First online publication in English so reviews are very welcome, both about the story and the grammar!





	Life goes on

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [La vie continue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103530) by [Personne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personne/pseuds/Personne). 



London wasn’t half as ruined as he had expected. 

The final fight against the Reapers had taken place there not even a year earlier. The last sight he’d had of the city was nothing short of a succession of collapsed or burned buildings. That the rubble removal had begun wasn’t surprising, but he couldn’t have guessed the reconstruction would have progressed this fast. 

Where once corpses from both sides accumulated in smoking heaps, Reapers’ forces mixed to every intelligent species of the galaxy, were now erected shining, defying buildings, crossed by crowded streets. A fresh and luminous day had replaced the thick, morbid night. 

Garrus was wandering, eyes wide, in this place he had only known broken. Lightyears from there, the Normandy had finally taken off after weeks of relentless work. 

EDI’s unexplained disconnection should have made the challenge impossible to take up. But the impossible wasn’t out of reach for the crew. Not after chasing down Saren, destroying the Collector base and contributing to save the galaxy from the Reapers. 

While his ship was being rebuilt, Joker had ceased his coarseness. Between his own recovery and his participation to the repairs, the little energy he had left couldn’t be wasted in insults and curses. The almost tangible hope guiding the whole crew had immerged him into unusual silence anyway. As if afraid that any negative thought could slash their courage. That any misplaced word could ruin their chances to return. _Return_ , wherever that was; leave this isolated system, getting closer to known civilisation centres. Even when he managed to tear the Normandy off her crash site, his language had stayed correct. 

Still, facing the few remains of the system’s mass relay, Joker had sworn. 

***

A few weeks had been needed to fly again, but it had taken entire months to come back. The Alliance formation most of the crew had received turned out to be very useful for planning. Maps of the galaxy had been used to deduce the current location of the Normandy, figure out the time of travel from one planet to another, find the required resources, go on and thus getting closer to known worlds. 

On some of their stops, they had met human, turian, asari, salarian, batarian colonists. Everywhere were made the same observation: the Reapers had been defeated, their technology, annihilated, and every form of synthetic life seemed extinct. 

Each member of the crew had understood the implications of this new situation for EDI. She wasn’t just disconnected. None’d had the heart to tell it out loud though. Even less so when their pilot was around. 

As they were traveling and getting information, their destination had become obvious. 

No one knew anything about Commander Shepard. 

They would go and get the information at its source. 

***

Almost a year after the Catalyst’s opening, the Normandy had finally landed in London in a provisory station. The docking bays were seemingly dedicated to merchandise and building materials transport. No other military ship was in sight. Yet it was the place the control had asked them to land: it was the only platform immediately available at the moment of the call. 

The air traffic controller Joker'd spoken to had sounded stunned at the Normandy’s landing request. 

Almost incredulous. 

An Alliance unit was on its way to welcome them. And probably to check the real identity of the ship and her passengers, too. Meanwhile, they’d been asked to stay confined in the Normandy. They had been assured that they would be taken care off until then, and that each of their questions would be answered as soon as the procedure was over. 

Despite the general eagerness, everyone aboard had accepted this measure, had considered it understandable. Reasonable. 

All but one. 

No one had been surprised to see Garrus leave the ship in a fast, determined step. Not nervous nor insubordinate for one bit. Simply ignoring of the given order, as if he’d never even heard it. 

He had kept this calm and focused appearance since the crash. It wasn’t actually an appearance. He didn’t dare to abandon himself to his thoughts or feelings. He hadn’t believed in Shepard’s death, but hadn’t dared to believe in her survival either. When the crew had asked him to place her among the other metal plates of the memorial wall, he had shuddered. Had wondered while stroking her name. _What if…?_ He’d stopped his thought right there. What if she really was dead? What if she was still alive? He didn’t want to know what the end of his question was. 

He had concentred all his energy and all his thoughts in one single obsession, blocking all emotion: conducting the investigation. Seeking information, whatever it was, and whatever its consequences were. He would have time to think and to feel later. For now, this distance was the only thing that could keep him going. 

Now mixed with passers-by, the turian was looking for the closest hospital. If he wanted to obtain intel, it was were he had to start. He knew it. While his eyes were quickly jumping from one directional panel to the other, while his eternal visor was zooming and deciphering the writings, he was splitting the crowd, unaware of the effect he was producing on the people. Many of them – regardless of their species – were turning around, staring at him, starting to talk in a low voice. Like the rest of Commander Shepard’s ground team, his face was well known on Earth and in the rest of Council world still in touch. His image and that of his teammates had been on every screen during the numerous homage ceremonies, and still regularly appeared in the news. In his blue and silver armor, still marked by the battle of London, Garrus was indeed easily recognizable.

Focused on his research, he was yet perfectly unaware of the reactions his passage had provoked. Head high, looking over the heads, he couldn’t stop himself from observing how much the city had changed since last time. How far the repairs had progressed. 

He noticed the holographic crosses had multiplied. He was getting close to a medical centre. 

As he was turning around the corner of a street, the turian equivalent of a satisfied smile was drawn on his face. Across the square was an imposing hospital complex, shining from daylight reflected on its many windows. While his decided pace was automatically leading him towards the building, his gaze sought the entrance. Met the bottom of some large stairs. Climbed its steps. Flew over a particular touch of red. 

Came back to it. Fixed on it. 

Garrus froze. 

***

London wasn’t half as ruined as she had expected. 

Her last memories before entering the Catalyst were blurred, but she remembered the ambient chaos, the smoking night, the fire and the rubble. The city had seemed lost to her, permanently. 

Well, she had slept many months. _Yes, slept._ The doctors had spoken about a coma, but part of her rather preferred to see it as a well-deserved rest. She’d been confined in her hospital room for the next months, with no other view of the outside world than that of the central atrium. She’d only seen London through the news, and hadn’t truly realized. Hadn’t made the connection between the new images and the past ruins. 

As much as her… _sleep_ had physically helped her, she had become more and more eager. Of course she was happy to be alive. As happy as surprised. But she didn’t like being at the centre of that much care and attention. So as soon as she had felt better, she’d harassed her doctors to let her out. It hadn’t worked so far. Too risky, too early. She had then sworn to recover rapidly. She was missing her freedom. And she was dying of wanting to go and get herself the intel she didn’t have… or was hidden to her. 

The Normandy was reported missing. Hackett would’ve preferred not to tell her that at her awakening, but hadn’t been able to dismiss the question. He’d avoided her gaze when admitting he wasn’t aware of anything to help find it. When confessing he didn’t even know if it had resisted the destruction wave that had crossed the galaxy. 

A lot of questions remained unanswered. Some of them concerning the new face she had given to the world. The consequences of her choice. Others, infinitely more numerous, concerning the members of her crew. Whatever the answers were, _she had to know._

She’d learned that the communications had suffered bad damages. That only the most influential and inhabited planets had managed to reconnect with each other, but information still took more time to circulate than before. None of this would stop her from trying to track her ship back once she got out. 

That is how Commander Jane Shepard, survivor of the Reapers War, savior of the Galaxy, was recovering: in hope to learn what had happened to her former crew. Her teammates. Her friends.

And her Turian. 

***

That morning, she felt fine. She had got up with the help of a male nurse, walked a few steps into her room, then into the hallway. It was laborious, but she wouldn’t admit it for the world. 

She was wandering next to a reception desk when she heard the call. 

A medical team was requested at the temporary equipment transit station. 

The Normandy had just docked there. 

The nurse who was assisting her had heard, too. He hesitated to force her to go to her room while she was heading for the elevator. He immediately abandoned the idea. He could get hit by trying to stop her. And the fire that had just lit her eyes was probably more beneficial to her recovery than any precautionary measure. 

The nurse sighed, shrugged and followed her into the elevator. He used his omni-tool to ask his available colleagues to join them in the entry hall with a wheelchair. His patient seemed decided to get to the temporary port, and even if it was not two miles away, she wasn’t able to walk that far just yet. 

Shepard barely noticed the man accompagnying her. Dozens of questions were jostling in her head without her being able to select a single coherent one. The sound of her heartbeats was keeping her from focusing on her thoughts anyway. 

The elevator ended its descent and she was already rushing towards the main hall limping, following the signs. Her weakened legs didn’t support her as much as she’d have liked, but she decided they would hold on. They had to. 

The moment she passed through the outside doors made her stop for a while, at the top of the entrance staircase. As she was leaning on the ramp, she finally met, amazed, the new London, where she’d been living for almost a year without seeing it. The square, the buildings, the trees, everything was new and unexpected; yet it was the sky she was staring at, blue, bright, clear of all clouds – and of all Reapers. 

The sun on her face and the fresh wind on her skin covered with her hospital gown had her shuddering. She wasn’t cold, no. For the first time since the battle of London, she was breathing. 

It took her a full minute to recover her thoughts. _The Normandy. The Normandy was back._ She had to find her. She had become aware of the nurses who were waiting patiently behind her, but her pride prevented her from asking them for directions. Instead, she sought to orient herself by scanning the place that laid at her feet. 

Something caught her attention. A curious crowd had begun gathering behind a lone figure.

Immobile. 

Turian. 

Her green eyes finally met the blue ones that were already staring at her. 

Two hearts stopped beating. 

***

For a few seconds, time had frozen. 

Then it moved again. 

The Turian took a step forward. A second one. Started running. 

The Human clung to the ramp. Climbed down a step. A second one. As fast as her body allowed her to. 

The Turian was running faster and faster, jostling the few people that were on his way without even noticing them. The Human was rushing down the stairs, dropped the ramp when she arrived at the bottom, continued to advance unevenly. 

She stumbled at the exact instant he reached her. He stabilized her by holding her in his arms. 

They hugged each other as hard as they could. Let themselves slide on the ground without letting go. Stayed kneeled, embraced, wordless, for a long time. 

Around them, the crowd was beginning to understand. Was identifying the two figures. Was getting ecstatic. Someone started applauding. Then the whole place vibrated. 

Jane Shepard and Garrus Vakarian didn’t hear anything. 

They were alone in the world. 

Two hearts began to pound together.

**Author's Note:**

> Scene inspired by the first and a half minute of _Sacred Pool of Tears_ by Hans Zimmer.


End file.
